


No Choir

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Based on a song, Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M, Missing Scene, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 17:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15224156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: And there will be no grand choirs to singNo chorus will come inNo ballad will be writtenIt will be entirely forgotten





	No Choir

**Author's Note:**

> The latest update of SNK was very disappointing to me and a lot of people, and I wanted to write about it. This is a bit of a love letter to both the potential of SNK and what could've been, my love of the story up until recently, and honestly, to fanfiction. Hope you enjoy. It's really quite short, but this song possessed me.
> 
> "And it's hard to write about being happy  
> Cause all that I get  
> I find that happiness is an extremely uneventful subject
> 
> And there would be no grand choirs to sing  
> No chorus could come in  
> About two people sitting doing nothing  
> But I must confess  
> I did it all for myself  
> I gathered you here  
> To hide from some vast unnameable fear
> 
> But the loneliness never left me  
> I always took it with me  
> But I can put it down in the pleasure of your company  
> And there will be no grand choirs to sing  
> No chorus will come in  
> No ballad will be written  
> It will be entirely forgotten  
> And if tomorrow it's all over  
> At least we had it for a moment  
> Oh darling things seem so unstable  
> But for a moment we were able to be still
> 
> And there will be no grand choirs to sing  
> No chorus will come in  
> No ballad will be written  
> This will be entirely forgotten"
> 
> \- "No Choir" by Florence and the Machine [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y_c3P-YWLpQ)]

Erwin is watching the birds, staring up at the blue sky through the window as a summer breeze rolls into the room. The shutters are open to let the air in—stagnant to Levi’s nose though it may be inside the Walls—and everything is quiet.

It’s Levi’s favorite day—Monday, the beginning of the week, when sheets are white and starched in between bloody missions outside the Walls, when everything seems new.

It’s morning and they’re lying in bed in clean white sheets, Levi sprawled lazily next to his Commander, injured, tender leg stretched across Erwin’s thighs. Erwin has one arm around him, the other merely an empty space that now the summer air fills. 

They’re both wounded with parts missing and empty spaces where things once lived, but wounded together; sometimes, it seems like they may not have enough of themselves left to really survive.

Levi thinks about death often. He doesn’t want it, but considering the grimmest possibilities without being swayed by passion is one of his fortes, even though he has passion in spades.

Erwin’s thoughtful now lying next to him, blond hair lank and falling across his forehead. The sex was good this morning as it always is, but somehow Erwin’s body radiated sadness along with the salt of sweat, and Levi had frowned, unseen, into his shoulder.

There are two types of strength that live in Erwin’s touch—one is confident and commanding; the other desperate and clinging.

“The birds aren’t that interesting,” Levi grunts, belying his words as he settles his head into the crook of Erwin’s shoulder to watch the out of the corner of his eye. It makes something in his heart constrict as Erwin simply pulls him closer and doesn’t answer for a moment.

“Of course they are,” he replies, his voice calm and reassuringly deep. Levi’s eyes close as he snorts, and he tries not to think about how Erwin’s warmth burns him like a brand. “They can fly.”

“If you could fly, you’d go over the Wall, right?” Levi asks, settling into this conversation with the same unease he does the summer breeze—enticing, yet potentially dangerous if he lets his guard down.

But oftentimes, between Erwin’s starched sheets and the occasional smiles that he offers when they kiss, Levi forgets that death and mistrust is something to hold close.

“I suppose,” Erwin muses, sounding surprised. It’s confirmed when he turns his face slightly toward Levi, but then just nuzzles his hair a little. “I’m interested in the mechanics of flight.”

“A lot of people would think that’s a crazy idea,” Levi remarks, shrugging a little as he presses completely against Erwin’s side, trying not to be obvious as he also peers out the window.

“To see the horrors of the world from above,” Erwin remarks dryly. “Though I’d like to hope there’s things out there other than horrors. The sea, the sky free of containment, maybe even other people.”

Levi is quiet for a moment, and Erwin clears his throat. 

“If there are people out there,” Levi finally replies, shaking his head. He trails off, desperately wanting to say what he knows is prudent—that anywhere _people_ exist tends to end in tragedy and cheap morals, that he’s seen humanity in the dark and in the light, outside and inside the Walls—and ultimately, optimism is foolish.

“You’re an optimist,” Erwin says as if on cue, his voice almost amused as Levi stiffens.

“Stop talking shit.”

“I’m not,” Erwin outright laughs now, and when Levi grunts at him in irritation, he just gets pulled closer. 

And really, he can’t reject the affectionate motion; not after all these years, after all the blood, the dashed hopes. He lets Erwin laugh a little and embrace him, a thing he allows no one else and never would.

“Do you have a nightmare beyond Titans?” he says, speaking before thinking. “A nightmare that’s so bad, it’s not worth it?”

Now Erwin is quiet and shifts a little, centering his legs, his arm around Levi loosening slightly.

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do to free mankind?” Levi presses, suddenly needing to know.

And he needs to know because it’s Monday and the sheets are starched and fresh and nothing smells like death; but tomorrow will be Tuesday when everything is just a bit more soiled, and then the week rushes by like dark river water and the months and years and everything they hold dear into obscurity.

Levi doesn’t see a grander purpose in life beyond simple existence like Erwin does. Seeing birds fly is enough; he doesn’t feel the need to muse over the magic behind their wings. After all, he has his own wings now that Erwin gave him.

He stopped being angry over the intimately intertwined existence of Erwin’s dreams and his lack of self preservation a long time ago. He signed up for this, after all.

Well, mostly.

Maybe not the warm skin against his own, the way Erwin smiles against his mouth when they move together, the dark moods that only Levi sees in the wee hours of the morning lying in bed together as Erwin stars at the moon through a cold and starless sky. 

“I’ve never dreamed of limitations,” Erwin finally answers, startling Levi out of his musings.

“But don’t you have a plan?” he insists, frowning a little as he listens. It’s not that he doubts, but it amazes him that Erwin didn’t think further ahead than just freeing humanity from the Walls. “Goals after victory?”

“Do you have goals?”

Levi stays silent; he thought it was clear that Erwin’s goals were his own.

“I see,” Erwin adds seamlessly. “Yes, I suppose there are limitations.”

“What are they?”

“I don’t know.”

“How could you not know?” Levi demands impatiently, scowling at nothing, face still hidden against Erwin’s shoulder. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I’m an old man,” Erwin deadpans. “Going senile, I’m afraid.”

“You _are_ an old man,” Levi sighs irritably, “but…” He trails off, unwilling to let this topic drop.

Sometimes, Erwin needs to be pushed if necessary, but it’s impossible to predict when it’ll be effective or make a difference. He’s infuriating to both the heart and the head, though Levi always comes back like a war dog. 

The first time someone called him that, he’d broken their nose. The second, he’d ignored it. And the third time, he’d stared, and then nodded.

He knows Erwin doesn’t consider him a dog, and beyond that, it really doesn’t matter what other people think.

“Stories are unpredictable,” is what Erwin says finally, exhaling heavily as he goes back to staring out the window. “The stories that are written might be inevitable. Sin might be designed for us.”

“Sounds like bullshit.”

Erwin chuckles. “I’d like to think so, but a lot of historians have written about it, both ancient and contemporary.”

“That illegal crap you keep hidden?”

“That illegal crap, yes, exactly.” Erwin turns his head unexpectedly, nuzzling Levi’s hair, inhaling. “Beyond the Walls, what are the limitations—that’s what you’re asking?”

“I’ll explain after you answer,” Levi retorts.

“All right,” Erwin replies, unexpectedly agreeable, making himself more comfortable as he adjusts against the pillow. “I’m not so naïve as to believe there will cease to be hurdles once we breach the Walls.” His voice becomes serious—the tone _Commander Smith_ is known for that captures the attention of cadets and senior officers alike—but now, to Levi’s ears, he also sounds confessional.

And then, Levi swears that every bird in the sky has been caged in his chest, twittering and flapping their wings, waiting to be released, waiting to hear what Erwin has to say—always _waiting, waiting, waiting._

“There’s something to be said for law and order when law and order can be upheld,” Erwin says evenly. “We don’t live in a time or a place for such fantasies, but if we were freed, if the truth were free, Levi, then maybe we could think beyond the necessity of blood.”

“What if that’s fate, though?” Levi counters.

Erwin chuckles, shaking his head. It’s both an ugly sound as well as a bright one, a strange mélange of sadness and amusement.

“There are some stories I would never tell,” he finally says quietly, “if I could help it. Maybe that’s why I’m missing an arm, why the Survey Corps exist.”

Levi can think of a lot of reasons about _why_ Erwin’s missing an arm, and none of them are flattering; mostly reasons conjured up when he sat vigil at Erwin’s bedside for days after the doctor had pulled away the bone saw with a relieved expression and the blood had finally stopped.

“Stories too immoral for even us?” Levi questions.

“Your morals are your own business, Levi,” Erwin says easily.

“I think the story would be lost without you,” Levi snorts, not registering the weight of his words until Erwin goes quiet.

“Not quite yet,” he says, voice dulcet as he slides down into the sheets and turns onto his side to meet Levi’s eyes. “Not quite yet, Levi,” he repeats, but his smile is melancholy. “Just a little while more, since I have some more plot points to make.”

Levi kisses him instead of talking, pulls him close and wraps desperate hands around Erwin’s waist, intruding into the space where his arm used to be—a figure disappearing with every twist of a terrible story that they can’t control, the tear of Levi’s heart with the birds escaping his ribcage as their mouths move against each other. The birds sail outside with thoughtless freedom.

But Erwin would say that humans are innately free, that they’re all simply caged by the unknown, possibly by their own kind, the least civil reasons conceivable.

Erwin’s lips are soft, his body warm, his heart is beating, and he’s writing stories into the morning air like the poet he probably could have been, the content man he could have become without war, the leader he _is_ that Levi is afraid will disappear.

It’s Monday and the sheets are clean; a forgettable day.

Even Erwin will be forgettable in the unforgiving wheels of time and how they grind bones down to nothing, down to the dust of the world to recycle and form new enslaved beings and witless storytellers bound by cruel fate.

No songs will be written about them, about clean sheets, about weeks or months or years; blood and bad fate is as common as changes in the weather.

“I still have some things to do,” Erwin quips.

“Kiss me, old man,” Levi demands, tightening his hands in mussed blond hair, pressing their lips together again. And so they do.

The birds soar meaninglessly and Levi’s eyes slip shut as they kiss.

How ever cruel the storyteller, there is here, there is now, and Levi’s heart beats out an eternal rhythm unchanged by unforgiving fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on: [tumblr](http://flecksofpoppy.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/flecksofpoppy/)


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